You Can Cry Tomorrow
by daphrose
Summary: "They've finally made their move. They've been waiting on this for a long time, and they've killed the biggest person who stands in their way. They're coming for us next. We don't have time to cry right now, Bree. The Society is coming." (Companion fic to my upcoming story, Survival of the Fittest)


**Today is my three-year anniversary on Fanfiction dot net. Wow. Really, wow. A lot of things have changed in three years. Our fandom's a lot smaller than it used to be; I don't even know how many people will see this story. I guess we'll find out soon.**

 **But anyway, explanation behind this story, because it needs one: I am planning and drafting an epic five-arc next-generation fanfiction called** ** _Survival of the Fittest_** **. It'll most likely be a few months before I actually post it; I want to get the whole thing finished and properly edited first. In the mean time, I wanted to give you guys a taste of what's coming. This story takes place well before the events of** ** _Survival of the Fittest_** **, so think of it as a sort of prologue, if you'd like. It's also worth noting that if my ideas for SotF change dramatically, then it's possible that some things in** ** _this_** **story will no longer be cannon in** ** _that_** **story. I don't really think that will happen, because my plans surrounding this part are pretty secure, but writing does weird things sometimes.**

 **In this universe, Elite Force never happened. Naomi was born and is named Naomi, but other than that, nothing from Elite Force ever existed. Wash it out of your minds (believe me, that's what I've been trying to do for months). Mini rant time: How do you take a show about bionic heroes saving the world and a show about normos saving superheroes' lives and combine them to get a show about five bratty teenagers living in a penthouse? Come on! (end rant) Anyway, this story takes place on April 12, 2030, just so you have some sense of the time.**

 **Warnings time! One mildly bad swear, brutal character death, children in danger, and all around intensity. Tread with care. I don't own Lab Rats, but Kelsey, Hunter, Cameron, Maze Wesley, and Willis are mine, as is the Society for the Advancement of the Human Species. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **_— You Can Cry Tomorrow —_**

* * *

Donald Davenport would not consider himself to be a nervous person. Sure, he worried incessantly about whether people would like him or not (the curse of being so cocky is the fear of one day not living up to your own expectations), but in general he didn't get easily scared. Maybe it was because of his lifestyle; having four bionic teenagers at home wore your nerves down to the point where they became nonexistent. He'd been in more life-or-death situations than he cared to recall. He'd faced bionic madmen, haywire androids, and his maniacal baby brother. He'd stared death in the eye, and every time he came out on top. But this time something was different. This time it felt like he'd swallowed several handfuls of pebbles and now had them rolling around in his stomach. His head buzzed and his hands shook, but he still managed to type out a number into his cell phone.

"You've reached L-Do, how can I help you?"

Donald squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. It felt good to hear a voice he trusted as the anxiety threatened to overwhelm him. "Leo, I'm being followed."

There was a pause, and then Leo answered, "Are you sure?"

Donald glanced across the street. The skyscraper he had exited fifteen minutes ago stood illuminated against the dark night. The words "Society for the Advancement of the Human Species" glistened above the twenty-foot-high glass door. He had commissioned those words himself, and for a time he had thought them beautiful. Now they stood out as a sore reminder of the evil he had wrought upon the world. "I'm sure. I took four right turns and he's still behind me. Wait . . ." He glanced into the window to his left. It displayed a variety of china plates, but he cared more about the reflection. "He's got a friend now."

In the reflection, Donald could see the two men. Not in suits, like in the movies. They wore jeans and t-shirts, casual and laid-back, not standing out against the late-evening Chicago scene. They lounged several feet behind Donald, leaning against a mailbox and apparently observing their surroundings, but they never let Donald fully out of their sight. He took a shaky breath as he waited for Leo's response.

"Uh . . . and they're Society? Not just some creeps, right? I mean, you are in Chicago."

"I recognize one of them."

"Can they hear you?"

"They're about twenty feet back and I'm on a fairly busy street, but I'm sure at least one of them has super hearing. Somehow I don't think it's going to matter what I say."

"True. What can I do, Big D? You want me to call Bree? If I can get a hold of her, she might be able to—"

"No, Leo, I didn't call to ask you for help."

"But—"

"Leo, be quiet and listen to me. It's over. They've done it. He's . . . he's done it. The Society has finally slipped out of my control. I'm not calling for help, I'm calling to warn you. They're going after me first, but they'll want you next."

Another pause. It didn't surprise Donald that Leo would need a second to process. Several, in fact. First he had to process what this meant for them. Then he had to process what Donald was asking of him. "We'll get you out of there, Big D. We're not going to let them hurt you."

Donald glanced around, trying to look casual. He didn't look back at his stalkers or make a break for it. He began to walk down the street, just as he would if he were going back to his apartment. "I'm walking," he said as an afterthought. Yes, he wasn't calling Leo for help, but that didn't mean he wasn't calling for moral support. He was terrified.

"Don't go back home."  
"I don't think it matters. They already know where I live."

"Still. Don't go into any alleys or dark places, and stay in crowded areas. Keep out in the open where people can see you. That should keep them from making a direct move on you."

"Good idea."

There was some shuffling on the other end of the phone, then Leo said, "Chase just walked in. You're on speaker now."

"Great. Hi, Chase."  
"Hey, Mr. Davenport. What's going on?"

"He's being followed."

"What? By whom?"

"Who do you think?"

"I hate your brother," Donald interjected.

"Agreed. Is he following you?"

"No, but these are all people on his side."

"Wait, 'these all'?" Leo said. "I thought there were only two!"

"I can see two more across the street."

"Mr. Davenport," Chase said. He said it as he exhaled, pumping the words full of foreboding and deep anxiety. He didn't need to say anything else; it was his tone, not the words that communicated his deep fear.

"Listen to me carefully, both of you," Donald said. He walked across the street and saw Wrigley Square coming up in front of him. A popular enough place that the Society goons shouldn't try anything. He made his way there as he explained everything he could to his sons. In the back of his mind, he remembered that those following him could most likely hear every word, which meant he had to select each one with care. "It's time. We knew it would happen some day, and that day is today. You've got to get everyone out. Find Maze and get to the meeting spot. I don't know where it is, but I know he has it all set up for you."

"You're saying all this as if you won't be there with us," Chase said.

Donald walked in front of the Millennium Monument. Several teenagers and young adults meandered about the lawn in front of him, beginning their Friday night in romantic and sensual ways. Some older children peered into the fountain, and a few seniors sat together on the benches observing the trees that lined the square. But among the people, Donald could see faces he recognized; faces that were once friends but were no longer. "Chase, I'm surrounded. I told Leo that I didn't call for help. I called him to warn you. They're going to kill me, and once they've done that, they'll come for you. You've got a head start, so go find Maze and—"

"No!" Chase shouted. "I'll go get Bree, I'll—"

"You need to get Bree _out_!" Donald shouted back. "There's no time to—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Davenport?"

Donald pressed his phone against his shirt, and so Leo's next words of, "Big D? Big D, what's going on?" were muffled. He looked up to address the young man who had walked up to him.

"Spin," he said, trying to look happy to see the former bionic soldier.

"Mr. Davenport, what are you doing here?"

"It seemed like a nice night for a walk."

Spin smiled and looked up at the sky. Of course, the Chicago night sky had nothing on the view from the Pacific ocean, and they both knew it. There were no stars, although the full moon offered plentiful amounts of light, enough to rival the streetlamps. "That it is," he said. "Who were you talking to on the phone?"

"Just Leo and Chase." No sense in lying. Donald knew that Spin knew full well who he was talking to, and he guessed Spin knew that he knew that Spin knew. All in all, Spin's question had been pointless in the first place.

"Oh." The young man scowled. He'd never gotten over his animosity with Leo. "Well anyway, how was work toda—"

"Spin, stop it. We both know why you're here."

"I guess that's true."

Donald could feel the microphone vibrating against his shirt, although he'd pressed far enough in that no sound could be heard. The vibrations got stronger, which meant either Leo or Chase or both had begun to shout.

"Mr. Davenport, please, listen to me," Spin said. "We don't want to hurt you. We want your help. If you would just come with me, we can explain. You know that all the Society wants is to make the world a better place. The Society is your greatest gift to the world!"

"The Society was my greatest failure," Donald said, purposefully adding much bite into the comment. "And I've made a lot of them."

Spin grinned, although it had more in common with a smirk than a genial smile. "Oh, come on. You think of yourself too highly to believe that."

"Well, my achievements vastly outweigh my mistakes, of course. But the Society only wants to destroy the world."

Spin groaned and put a hand on his forehead. "I know we've been arguing about this for years. I know that I'm not going to change your mind now."

"Then why are you trying?"

"Because I know you're a smart man. You're on the wrong side of history, Mr. Davenport. Join us, or . . ." Spin trailed off and began playing with his fingers.

"Or what? Finish that sentence, Spin."

"I don't want to," he whispered. "You know. Mr. Davenport, I'm enormously grateful for everything you've done for me and my siblings. But this is bigger than both of us. I'm giving you one last chance. Please. Think about your family. Don't you want them to be safe?"

"Yes." Donald moved in closer to Spin. The once shrimp-like bionic had grown tall and lanky, and he stood nearly a full head taller than vertically-challenged Donald, but that didn't stop the older man from becoming an imposing figure. Good. He wanted Spin to be afraid, to realize the consequences of his actions. "I want them to be safe, and that is why I will fight the Society with every breath, up until and including my final one." Spin swallowed and Donald took another step, forcing the bionic to stumble back. "I'm sick of your naturalist views. I'm sick of hearing how much better humans can be if we only sacrifice a few. You're not going to sacrifice a few, though. It's going to be a slaughter. You'll have to rule by fear and force, and I will fight that." Here Donald relented, stepping back and shaking his head. He couldn't look Spin in the eye as the younger man composed himself. "What have they done to you?" Donald whispered.

Spin brushed off his shirt and swallowed again. He ran his fingers through his hair and his face took on an aggressive expression. "You never understood," he said. It didn't have as much bite as it could have, indicating that Spin still had _some_ form of sympathy. "I'm done trying to change your mind."

 _But I'm not done trying to change yours,_ Donald thought. As Spin turned heel to leave, Donald called to him, "You're just like your father."

Here Spin froze in his tracks. His quivering chest indicated his anger at the comment, and he lashed out accordingly. "I'm nothing like my father."  
"You believe the same things. You think that bionics are the next evolution of the human race, and if they won't accept it you'll force it on them."

"I believe," Spin said, his voice cold enough to freeze a lake, "that we need to _help_ humans. My father wanted to _destroy_ them and build his _own_ civilization. I'm doing good for humans, not harming them."

"It's the same thing, except you wrap it up with a pretty bow."

Spin took a deep breath and said as he exhaled, "You still don't get it. You'd rather millions of people die of diseases and accidents they could've prevented if they were bionic than to have your personal agenda squashed. I'm sorry the Society doesn't bow at your feet like we used to, but we've evolved, and we're going to help the rest of humanity evolve as well. If you don't want to be a part of that, it's your funeral. Literally." Spin stormed off down the path, pausing only for a moment to exchange words with a man Donald recognized from the Society.

 _Your funeral. Literally._

"Leo, listen," Donald said, putting the phone back to his ear.

"Big D! What happened?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Chase started to say.

"Be quiet, Chase, and _listen_. I want you to go get Bree and her family and evacuate them. Find Maze and tell him it's time for the Flight. He'll know what that means. Until you can carry out Maze's orders, I want you to stay low and away from anyone in the Society . . . or anyone at all, really. Leo, find my brother." Here Donald paused for a moment. A lifetime flashed through his mind's eye. Sure, his brother had turned evil for a time, pursuing his own goals instead of seeking to do good. But deep down, Douglas had always been a good man, and Donald loved him to death. It terrified him that they might never see each other again. It literally felt like a beast had clawed into his chest and struck his heart. The sheer terror of reality overwhelmed him as he thought of all the things he had wanted to do with his brother and now never would. But these thoughts passed in a moment (though the terror lingered and indeed strengthened), and Donald said, "Find Douglas and tell him everything that happened. Tell him I . . . tell him what happened. Then go get your mom and keep her safe. I don't know how long you'll have. I'm hoping . . . I'm hoping they haven't gotten to her already."

A slight choke sounded on the other end of the line that surely came from Leo. Donald didn't blame him. He would've broken down into an embarrassing round of tears if his mission to explain everything to his two sons wasn't so urgent.

"Maze will alert everyone else he has connections to. Chase, Leo . . ." Donald rubbed his face. He looked out at everyone around the park. Many had bionics, but some didn't. The Society had been created to give people the choice. Some people chose no. But now . . . "Normal humans are going to be the thing of the past soon. Free will is going to be a thing of the past soon."

"We're not going to let that happen, Mr. Davenport."

"I know. I know. I know you guys will fight. Please . . . please fight."

As Donald talked, a sniper across the street perched on the rooftop and took aim with his weapon. He looked down the scope and centered it on one egotistical billionaire. Then his hesitation took hold. He lowered his weapon. His partner sitting beside him sneered. "Don't fall apart now," he said. "This was your plan, Davenport."

The sniper swallowed. "But he . . . he's done so much for me. He's family. I . . . I love him, Willis."

His partner rolled his eyes. "He betrayed you. He's going to continue to betray you. You heard what he told Spin. You said it yourself: he's urging on humanity's demise. You wanted to pull the trigger because you wanted to put an end to his tyrannical reign. Now you'll be in charge, and you can do what you want." Willis leaned forward and his eyes softened. "You told me you hated him. You weren't lying, Davenport. You're lying to yourself when you say you love him. You hate him. Now end him."

The sniper closed his eyes. He raised the weapon again, took aim through the scope, and pulled the trigger without a second thought. Adrenaline shot through his limbs, and regret never entered his mind.

As the bullet sped through the air, Donald, unawares that these words would be his last, spoke again to his sons. "Bring down the Society at all costs. You've never given up before, and I don't expect you'll start now." He paused for a moment. "I know I raised you two right. Keep each other safe and—"

The phone fell from Donald's fingers and the spectators at the park gasped as his lifeless body fell into the fountain. Kids began to cry, adults began to scream, and Society goons slipped out of the crowd. 911 was dialed on exactly seven cell phones. The sniper and his partner slipped away, unseen in the dark of night. Sirens blared in the distance.

One normal man from the crowd, unaffiliated with the Society, walked up to the fountain to observe the damage. He recognized the famous inventor, of course. He felt sick to his stomach seeing all the blood on his chest. He began to walk away, but then he heard shouts coming from some electronic source. He noticed the cell phone on the ground and knelt to pick it up. The whole world buzzed around him as he said, "Hello? Who is this?"

There was silence for a moment, then a man's voice answered him. "This is Leo Dooley. Who are you?"

"Uh . . . my name is Craig Neeman. Am I . . . am I using Donald Davenport's phone?"

"Yes," came the curt reply.

"Oh. Uh . . ." Craig swallowed and looked back at the floating body. By now police cars had pulled up by the curb, and policemen got out, pushing everyone away from the crime scene. "Donald Davenport was just . . . I don't know what happened, it came out of nowhere, and he . . ."

"He's dead?" said a second man.

"Uh . . . yeah."

Silence again. Then the first man said, "Thank you, Craig. Please give this phone to the police."

"Yes sir. I'm, uh, I'm sorry I had to—"

The phone went dead. Craig looked at it in shock, then ran to a nearby police officer to deliver his evidence.

Already the sniper and his partner had slipped out into the backstreets, holding tight to their gear so as to leave no evidence behind. The sniper gripped his vest and concentrated on his boots slamming against the ground one by one. He didn't feel bad. He didn't regret it. He hadn't loved Donald as much as he thought.

In all the hubbub of the night, one person remained still. Donald lay in the shallow water, face-up, with a hole in his chest. The sniper had been a good one; he'd gotten Donald straight in the heart. A quick and painless death for the beloved founder of the Society for the Advancement of the Human Species.

_—¯¯—_—¯¯—_

Bree took another bite out of her grilled cheese sandwich and leaned over Kelsey's shoulder. "Didn't your teacher tell you any of this?" she asked.

"Yeah." Kelsey grabbed one of her blonde curls and twisted it around her fingers. "And I know some of it, but I want Dad to help. When's he gonna be home?"

"Soon, sweetie." Bree patted the girl's head and turned as her husband, Cameron, entered the kitchen.

"Hunter's in bed," he said, kissing his wife on the forehead. "He put up a fight, and I don't think he wants to go to sleep, but he's in bed."

"Mmm, thank you." Bree elaborated on her thanks by kissing her husband full on the mouth.

"Yuck," Kelsey muttered.

Bree and Cameron broke away, laughing. "Give it a few years," Bree said, "and you won't think it's so 'yuck' then."

Cameron took a seat next to Kelsey at the counter, and Bree went back to her sandwich. As the mother of one young child and substitute mother to another, meals at eight o'clock were hardly unusual to her.

"Working on homework?" Cameron asked.

"Science," Kelsey said. "I need Dad's help."

"Well, I can help you."

"No. I want Dad's help."

Cameron looked up at Bree, who raised her eyebrows. It wasn't so much that Kelsey needed help—although she most certainly did—but rather that she wanted the quality time with her dad. He'd been gone on business for over a week now, and the nine-year-old missed him. Cameron got the memo and stood, grabbing some of the pots and cleaning them off in the sink.

"Thanks, honey," Bree said. "What are you learning about in science, Kelsey?"

"Planets and stars and stuff. It's kinda cool. Didn't you go to space once?"

"Yes we did. Twice, actually. Although it's not all it's cracked up to be. It's big and empty and actually kinda boring."

Kelsey smiled and went back to doodling in the margins of her homework paper. For a few minutes they moved about like a regular family should, and then the front door opened and closed and Bree's life fell apart.

"Dad!" Kelsey yelled, jumping out of the seat and running into the hall. Bree followed her and smiled as her brother picked up his daughter and swung her around.

"Hey, Kelse. How are you?"

"I'm great! I got to read my story in front of the class on Tuesday, and my teacher liked it. Not as much as Darren's, but she liked it!"

"Good, I'm proud of you."

Bree leaned against the door as Chase came toward her. "She's been waiting all night for you to get home so you can help her with her homework."

"Well," Chase lowered his voice a bit as he passed Bree and entered the kitchen, "she's going to have to wait a little longer."

Bree picked up immediately on his stressed tone. "Is everything okay?"

Cameron looked up from the dishes, his face expectant for any news. Kelsey also sensed the worry. Chase tried to smile, and then he turned to his daughter and said, "Kelsey, do you have any other homework?"

"No." She shot a skeptical look at her father. "I finished it already. I had math, which was hard, and an English paper, which was harder."

"Well . . . why don't you go proofread your paper. You know what I've told you about proofreading."

"Yeah, but . . ." Kelsey peered at each adult face, and finally it registered that she couldn't be a part of the ensuing conversation. She took the hint and went out, although she sulked the whole way.

Bree tried to swallow the fear. Chase often brought home bad news, but he didn't have any qualms about sharing it with his daughter. His demeanor and his actions indicated that something much worse was afoot, and Bree could only think of a handful of terrible things that would reduce him to this state. Any one of those things made her want to have a mental breakdown just thinking about them. She wrapped her arms around her chest and waited for Chase to talk.

Chase looked at his sister, then at her husband. He took off his coat and draped it over a chair. In Bree's head, she was screaming for him to just come out with it and tell her what had happened, but clearly he needed time to prepare himself. So she held it in, her breath getting shorter with each inhale.

After what seemed like hours, Chase turned—Bree noted how blanched his face looked—and said, "Mr. Davenport is dead."

There are only so many ways to describe the feeling Bree had at that exact moment, but she would describe it as "the worst feeling in the world." She'd been through many ups and downs in her life, and this was not the first time she'd had to deal with the monster of Death. But Davenport . . . the man who raised her, who taught her everything, who loved her and trained her and showed her what it meant to be a hero . . . he couldn't be gone. He couldn't be. He was immortal, he always had been. He was Donald Davenport. He was her dad.

Bree didn't remember leaning on Chase's shoulder or him wrapping his arms around her. She didn't remember Cameron rubbing her back. She didn't remember Kelsey sneaking back into the room.

What she did remember were the tears. Her tears that stained Chase's shirt. Chase's tears that wet her hair. She did remember Cameron ushering Kelsey out of the room and leaving the siblings alone. She did remember the moment that Chase leaned back and wiped her face with the edge of his sleeve.

"How?" she mumbled. "Why?"

Chase swallowed, trying to get himself to a point where he could talk again. "Cameron," he called, though he choked on the word and had to swallow again.

"Yes?" Cameron came back into the kitchen. "I was trying to give you two some space."

"Thank you," Bree mumbled, then fell into her husband's arms. He kissed her head and looked at Chase questioningly.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Kelsey!" Chase called.

Kelsey peeked her head around the doorframe. She ran to Chase and he picked her up, setting her on the counter. "Grandpa Davenport is dead?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so, sweetie." Chase took a deep, shaky breath and looked at them one by one. "And it gets worse than that."

"How could it be _worse_?" Bree asked.

"The Society killed him."

"Those bastards!" Bree spit out without thinking.

"Whoa, calm down," Cameron said, hugging her tighter.

"She's not wrong," Chase said. "Look, they've finally made their move. They've been waiting on this for a long time, and they've killed the biggest person who stands in their way. They're coming for us next." Chase looked right at his sister. "We don't have time to cry right now, Bree. The Society is coming."

Bree nodded and tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. Her hands were shaking, and she shoved them in her pockets so no one would see.

"I've already contacted Maze. He sent me our rendezvous, and we're supposed to be there by tomorrow morning."

"The morning?" Cameron said.

Chase nodded. "Right now he's contacting everyone he can and sending them to secure locations. That's what he sent me. After we make sure everyone's safe, we'll move ourselves to a more permanent location. Maze's got it all planned out, but we need to get our stuff and leave tonight."

"I'll go wake up Hunter," Bree said, moving to leave the room.

"No," Cameron said, "I'll do that. You start packing up stuff down here. You were always better at that than me."

Bree nodded, and Cameron left the room. She began to move around the kitchen, picking out important papers and items.

"What's going on, Dad?" Kelsey asked. "Where are we going?"

"You'll find out when we get there, pumpkin."

"How long are we going to be gone?"

Bree stopped and locked eyes with Chase. He sighed. "Forever, kiddo."

"But . . . but I have to hand in my English paper on Monday." She scrunched up her face. "But wait! What about Abby? And Dustin? When will I get to see them again?"

Chase stayed silent and ran his hand through his hair.

"Dad . . . _will_ I get to see them again?"

"I don't know."

"But Dad!"

"Kelsey, listen to me!" Chase shouted, grabbing Kelsey's upper arms and staring right at her. "Your grandfather died tonight. The people that killed him want us dead too. The world is going to change a lot in the next twenty-four hours, and we have to be out of here when it does." He gripped her cheeks. "Baby, I love you. Don't fight me on this."

By now Kelsey's eyes were shimmering with tears. She had been filled with fear, not of her father, but of the things that were right to fear. The reality of the situation had set upon her. "I need a brick," she mumbled.

Bree leaned over and grabbed a brick off the stack they kept in the kitchen just for Kelsey. She placed it in the girl's hands, and in a matter of seconds Kelsey had ground it to fine dust. She took deep, controlled breaths and blinked away the tears.

"I know you're scared, Kelse," Chase said. "So am I. But I need you to be brave, okay? When we get where we're going, you can cry all you want. I know I will. But for now, I need you to focus. Go pack your things, like I showed you."

Kelsey nodded, hopped off the counter, and ran out without another word.

"It's terrifying that a nine year old girl knows exactly what to pack in case she needs to flee," Bree said.

"Well, right now it's going to save us a lot of time."

"Are you all packed?"

"As we've faced the threat of the Society over the last several years, I've begun to understand that most material things don't matter to me. Everything important is already packed away in a suitcase upstairs. It's not a lot."

"Good for you." She didn't say it with sarcasm; she wouldn't have the strength for that even if she wanted to.

"Remember to pack light. We can only take so much."

"I know." She stopped and dropped the upper half of her body onto the counter. "I don't want to do this!" she cried without looking up. Chase stayed silent, and after a few seconds she looked up. "Where's Leo?"

"He's going to get Douglas, Tasha, and Naomi. I think Douglas has his own plan. They won't meet up with us quite yet."

"Will we see them again?"

"Bree, don't worry about it. Of course we will."

Bree shook her head. "You can't promise that."

"No . . . no, I can't. I can't promise you anything."

"You can't promise me we'll be okay."

"I definitely can't promise that."

"You can't promise me my son will be okay. Or that your daughter will be."

"No."

"We knew our lives would be crazy. Why did we even decide to have kids?"

"Because," Chase said with a small, ironic smile, "if people stopped having kids because the world is messed up, the human race would've died out a long time ago."

"I know." Bree sighed. "I know. But, Chase, you have to promise me . . . you have to promise me that if something happens . . . to me, to Cameron . . . promise me you'll take care of Hunter."  
"Of course I will, Bree. You'll do the same for Kelsey?"

"Of course."

They didn't say anything else. Bree began packing up everything she deemed important, and Chase helped. It was amazing how many things Bree thought she needed but truly didn't. Running for your life makes you look at material things differently. The personal mementos didn't matter nearly as much as having your family right there to look at and love. The Christmas presents that seemed so exciting that morning proved to be nothing but a waste of time. The things you'd carried with you all your life became extra baggage best left behind. It cut Bree deep to her core to pass over things that meant so much to her, but what else could she do? She didn't have room for the authentic, hand-carved boomerang she'd bought on her honeymoon in Australia. It would be a useless token slowing them down. Instead, she grabbed the picture of her and Cameron surfing. It was a perfectly timed picture, taken right before Bree plunged into the water. It would be her best reminder of those sweet weeks with her husband, the weeks when the world faded away and she didn't have to worry about crazed bionics or annoying brothers or mad-scientist fathers. She would give anything to go back in time, to hold Cameron's hand and kiss him again and again before the world fell apart on them in so many ways. She wish she could go back and warn her past self about what was to come, about the heartbreak her brothers would face, the death of her family members, the death of a child who came out of her own body, the fear and insecurity and instability of fighting against a maniacal group who wanted to take over the world and kill those who didn't agree with them. But alas, the world didn't work that way, and now her father could never invent time travel for her. Now she would have to carve her own path, to continue going despite the pain and the terror and the uncertainty. She would have to make wise decisions, and those decisions started with determining which items she valued most that would fit inside her backpack.

After figuring out most of what she wanted, Bree said, "I'm going to go up and check on the kids."

"I'll do that too. You take yours and I'll take mine?"

"Only fair."

Together they ascended the stairs and parted in the hallway, Chase entering Kelsey's room and Bree entering Hunter's. Cameron was crouched in the corner, talking softly to the young boy. Hunter looked up as Bree entered, his face a mixture of confusion and fear.

"Daddy says we have to leave," Hunter said. "He's making me pack."

"Yes, honey. We've got to go."

"The Society again?"

"Yes."

"I don't like them."

"None of us do."

"Momma . . . I'm scared. Are they going to kill us?"

Bree sat down beside her son and took him into her arms. "I won't let them do a thing to you," she whispered in his ear. "They won't hurt you, and they certainly won't kill you. I promise I won't let them."

"And I won't let them hurt you!" Hunter said.

Bree smiled and held him a bit away from her face. "Good. I'm glad to know I'll have a big, strong boy protecting me. Now go pack your things, just like Daddy and I showed you."

Hunter obeyed, running around his room and packing things as fast as he could. Luckily, he didn't have the pickiness of most six year olds. He'd grown up with the understanding that he might have to leave his things behind someday, so he was quite astute in picking out the things that mattered. Cameron and Bree had to direct him away from certain items and towards others at times, but for the most part, he packed well enough on his own.

It took them a few more hours to pack it all up, but when they did, it fit well into five backpacks and four suitcases. They convened in the family room to discuss what would happen next.

"Should I super-speed us?" Bree asked.

"No. I'm sure they'll detect that," Chase said. "We can take the car."

"Can't they hack into it?" Cameron asked.

"Davenport designed its security. I've checked it over, and it's flawless. Nonetheless, it can't take us all the way to where Maze wants us to go. We'll drive in the direction of the rendezvous, but then we'll get out, and Bree can take us the rest of the way. Does that work?"

A few minutes later, they were pulling away from the house. Bree stared at it with a lump in her throat so big she could hardly breathe. She knew she would never see that house again. The house that she and Cameron had bought together, in order to pursue a new life, would now fall to the Society to do with as they pleased. Bree wanted to cry, but she restrained herself. It would have to wait.

The self-driving car took them down the desired streets on a round-about path to make it harder for the Society to track them—if they were even trying, which Bree had a feeling they were. The five of them sat in silence for several minutes, simply staring at each other. Hunter and Kelsey made a game out of trying to pin each other's legs to the side of the car, but their hearts clearly weren't in it.

"What's the Society going to do now?" Cameron asked. Everyone looked at him, and he added, "I need to know. We all need to know."

Chase shrugged. "They don't like non-bionics. They're going to force people to get bionics, to 'evolve' the human race."

"And if people don't agree to become bionic?"

"Death, I'm guessing."

"And I'm guessing that punishment also applies to people who don't agree with them who _are_ bionic," Bree said.

"Bingo. They'll probably experiment on people more openly. They've been doing it for a long time, but who's going to stop them now?"

"Us," Bree said.

"That's going to take some time. We've been fighting them for years, and we just lost." Chase stared out the window. "Right now we just need to get safe, and after that we can come up with an action plan."

Bree nodded. "But we _are_ going to take them down, right?"

"Eventually. But I think you're underestimating their power, Bree."

"No, I'm not. I know how powerful they are. But since when do we care? The Society is going to fall. One day."

"One day, absolutely." Chase's facial features hardened, and Bree knew he completely agreed with her.

"What now?" Cameron asked. "We're going to see Maze?"

"Maze is gathering all the people he thinks are at risk," Chase explained. "Once everyone is together, then we'll go to some safe place. I'm pretty sure he's got a town he wants to send us all to, but I don't know where it is or how he's planning to keep us safe from the Society. All I know is that he _does_ have a plan, and I trust him."

Cameron nodded. "Good. I just wanted to know. I'm sure we'll be safe with Maze in charge."

They went silent again, and Bree leaned her head on Cameron's shoulder. Chase continued to stare out the window, and Kelsey and Hunter eventually gave up on their game.

Hunter began to quiver, and when he talked, his voice caught in his throat. "I'm so scared," he whispered.

Kelsey reached across the aisle and took his hands. "We're all scared, Hunter," she said. "I'm terrified. But listen, you have to be brave right now, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"I-I don't know."

"When we're safe, you can cry all you want. Cry forever if you need to. But right now, you have to hold it in. You have to be brave. I know you can be brave, Hunter."

"I . . . I'll try."

"No, you _will_."

"I will." Hunter sniffed and took a deep breath.

Bree saw Chase's reflection smile. His words of wisdom were some that all of them needed to take to heart. There would be a moment to bawl, to cry their eyes out over everything they'd lost. But now was not that moment. Now they needed to focus, keep each other safe, and above all, be brave. Be brave for one another, for Mr. Davenport, for everyone they lost and would lose over the coming days. Who knew what the future would hold? Who knew what fates awaited them all? Who knew if they would survive the next twenty-four hours in a world that wanted them dead?

None of them knew. None of them could possibly know. But what they did know was they would fight, they would love, and they would fight some more. Bree meant to keep her promises. Hunter would be safe no matter what happened to her. Kelsey would be safe no matter what happened to Chase. That's what family did for each other.

Donald Davenport's death would not go unavenged. One day, the Society would fall, but for the moment, the Davenport family was on a mission to survive.

* * *

 **Once** ** _Survival of the Fittest_** **comes out, you'll learn if they survived, and who. I mean, not all in the first chapter, obviously. It's a long story. ;) But you'll have your answers, one day.**

 **A lot of these characters will be back. Willis, the sniper, and Maze all show up in SotF at some point. If you'd like to know more about them, get hyped for that story! Here's some info on it:**

* * *

 **Title: Survival of the Fittest**

 **Summary: "If you are not smart enough, you will be eliminated. If you are not fast enough, you will be eliminated. If you are not strong enough, you will be eliminated. So says nature. So say we, the Society for the Advancement of the Human Species."**

 **Rated: High T**

 **Genre: Adventure/suspense/drama/angst, with touches of sci-fi/friendship/romance/spiritual/tragedy/humor.**

* * *

 **It's going to be uber exciting, and I hope you'll stick around to see that. I'm really hoping I can get it out within the next few months.**

 **Too be honest, guys, I'm swamped. That's why I haven't been posting or reading as much. I'm looking at colleges, I've got the SAT coming up that I need to study for, and I'm taking British literature and Latin II. On top of that, I'm helping out at our church. I help lead the 6th grade girls' group on Sunday mornings and Tuesday nights, which is awesome and fun and I love my girls so much, but it's also exhausting and takes away a good deal of my free time. Plus I'm behind on way too many IRL projects, and it's getting really overwhelming. Nonetheless, in terms of writing,** ** _Survival of the Fittest_** **is my top priority, and I'm working on it for Camp NaNoWriMo this month. It's already almost 15,000 words, and I've only written two and a half chapters! It's going to be big and long and wonderful. So I hope you'll stick around for that.**

 **Fun fact: I cried while writing Donald's death. I don't usually cry writing my own stories (sometimes while reading them), but man, that hit me** ** _hard_** **! I love my Donny-boy so much. *sniff***

* * *

 **Review questions:**

 **1\. Did Donald's death make you cry?**

 **2\. What's going to happen to Leo, Douglas, Tasha, and Naomi? Will Bree and Chase ever see them again?**

 **3\. What do you think of Cameron? Kelsey? Hunter?**

 **4\. After reading this one-shot, are you excited for** ** _Survival of the Fittest_** **?**

* * *

 **Feel free to review and answer those questions. Thanks for reading. Follow, favorite, and all that good stuff. I'll see you all in a few months. Bye!**


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